Collision
by Julia9
Summary: (WIP) AU-all human...When Buffy Summers agrees to do a favor for her friend, she didn't realize that it would throw her entire life into a tailspin.
1. The Beginning

August, 1998 

Buffy pulled off her sunglasses, folding the black frames in her left hand as she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, oblivious to the dirty looks she was receiving from her fellow pedestrians. She stood frozen, staring up in wonder at the billboards and marquees of Times Square. It was just like the pictures she'd been staring at for the last five years; the wrinkled sun-bleached magazine cut-outs she'd taped to her bedroom walls. 

There were sidewalk vendors on every corner, their carts full of baseball hats, hot pretzels and fake Rolex watches. Office buildings were right next to flower shops, and the entrances of apartment buildings were alongside restaurant fronts. 

The city throbbed with a constant energy that Buffy had never seen before. Car horns blared as taxi cabs swerved in and out of traffic. Tourists filled the sidewalk while people in business suits darted through the crowds on their way to work. 

None of Buffy's pictures had ever captured the pulse of the City, and she had never imagined that any place in the world could be so vibrant. New York City was a far cry from the one Starbucks town she'd grown up in. 

It was nothing like California; Buffy hasn't been able to stop comparing the two since she got off the plane at JFK. People seemed to flow with such purpose; everyone knew exactly how to navigate the identical streets lined with identical buildings. 

She took a deep breath and squeezed the straps of her bookbag for reassurance. Buffy licked her lips, doing her best to memorize every detail of Times Square. Tossing a look over her shoulder, Buffy joined the flow of people who were moving towards the street corner. 

The light summer breeze threw her golden-blonde hair across her eyes, obscuring her vision and getting stuck on her pink lip-gloss. "Ugh, gross," she complained, wrinkling her nose. She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, separating the highlighted pieces with her perfectly manicured nails. 

Straightening her shoulders, Buffy slipped back into the flow of traffic. It was time to look confident; she was a freshman in college and old enough to be on her own. 

"Now left or right," Buffy wondered out loud, standing in front of the crosswalk, a confused expression twisting her lightly tanned face. Her green eyes narrowed as she squinted down the long street, searching vainly for some point of reference. 

The directions she'd copied down from NYU's website said to follow Broadway down until it crossed Third Street. 

They would have been wonderful directions if Buffy has any idea about which way she was supposed to go on Broadway. Did she want to go North or South? For that matter which way was North and which way was South? 

The street signs above her head said that she was on 44th Street and 7th Avenue. A wave of loneliness washed over her and Buffy swallowed hard over the lump in her throat. She had no idea where to go, and coming to New York seemed like the worst idea she'd ever had. 

"Get a grip," she mumbled under her breath, "just think for a minute. This can't be that hard." 

She turned her head to one side then the other, but both streets looked the same. "Well I gotta pick a direction," she said, forcing herself to sound calm and carefree. Her heart was racing with every step she took, and Buffy squeezed the handle of her suitcase even tighter. 

Squaring her shoulders, Buffy walked towards the giant light board in the center of Times Square. It had a strange name, Jumbo something….Jumbo Tron, that was it. Everyone called it the Jumbo Tron, she reminded herself sharply, the knuckles of her left hand turning white as she clutched her suitcase in a death grip. Buffy wove in and out of the crowded sidewalk, beads of sweat appearing on her forehead as the summer sun beat down on the people. 

She stopped at another intersection, waiting to cross the street away from the chaotic mess of Times Square. Sliding her sunglasses back over her eyes, Buffy stepped into the crosswalk, hoping she didn't look as lost as she felt. 

Tossing her long hair over her shoulders, Buffy grimaced when her right hand came in contact with frizzy wisps of hair. So much for making a good first impression, she thought bitterly. She hadn't even met her roommates yet and already she looked like a ragged mess. Gnawing nervously on her lower lip, Buffy looked at the buildings around her, hoping that she was going the right way. 

Fifteen minutes later she was standing beneath a green street sign that read Broadway and 41st Street, a goofy smile on her face. "Alright, I found Broadway," she congratulated herself, "now Third Street should be pretty close." 

Hoisting her bookbag higher on her shoulder, she pressed her hand against the lump created in the top by her purse before continuing down the street. She kept having to reassure herself that she was actually here, in New York City, thousands of miles away from the sleepy town she'd called home for eighteen years. 

Twenty-five minutes into her trek, Buffy ducked into a Starbucks. Surprisingly the coffee shop wasn't too crowded and after waiting for the two people in front of her to place their orders, Buffy approached the register. "Can I get an iced mocha," she asked, wiping her damp forehead with the back of her hand. She passed a five-dollar bill across the counter, smiling gratefully at the clerk as he returned her change. 

Turning towards the other end of the counter where the finished coffees were being lined up for waiting customers, Buffy paused. She asked the teenager behind the counter how long it would take to get to Third Street. He chuckled, his eyes dancing behind the thick frames of his glasses. 

"About an hour. It'd be quicker if you catch a cab." 

Buffy grimaced. "Thanks," she mumbled, twisting her backpack around so she could reach into her purse. Pulling two wrinkled bills out of her wallet, she sighed heavily. First thing to do after she found her damn apartment was to go find an ATM. Spending all day in airports and then wandering around the City was quickly cutting into her cash. 

She walked back outside, her green eyes flickering through the traffic, searching for a cab. "How hard could this be," she muttered under her breath. New Yorkers used cabs every single day; it couldn't be that tough to find one. 

Raising her right arm in the air, Buffy called out "taxi," her high voice swallowed up by the cacophony of car horns and police sirens. Three more attempts and a battered yellow car that looked like it should have been retired a decade ago pulled up alongside the curb. 

Buffy stepped into the street and slid into the backseat of the cab. "Third Street and Broadway," she told the cab driver, leaning back against the rough leathery seat. He grunted in response, swinging the car back out into the traffic. 

She shifted her purse around inside her book bag, pushing her suitcase further across the bench seat. Looking out the dusty window of the cab, Buffy tried to drink in all the sights and sounds of the City. 

It was hard to truly get the feeling of New York when she was trying to navigate long avenues and avoid walking too close to anyone for fear of losing her bag. Sitting back in the cab, Buffy felt herself relax for the first time all day. 

Ripples of excitement tinged with fear swelled up inside her, and Buffy pinched the fleshy part of her bicep. She was still in a state of shock and disbelief, the last few hours felt like they had been a dream. 

"You got an address lady or you just want me to keep driving 'til you see the right place," the cabbie asked, his rough voice bringing Buffy back to reality. 

She double-checked the address she'd scrawled on a scrap of paper, and told the driver the number of her apartment building. He grunted again, swinging the cab into the right lane without even bothering to see if there were any cars in his way. 

Four screeching turns later the cab came to an abrupt stop in front of an impressive high-rise building. "Here you are," the cabbie said, "that'll be ten-fifteen." 

Buffy passed him a twenty dollar bill. While she waited for her change, Buffy pulled her bag back onto her shoulder. Giving the cabbie two dollars for a tip, she smiled gratefully as she stepped out of the cab. 

She licked her lips, tipping her head towards the sky, fascinated by the sheer height of the building. Buffy stared up in awe at the massive structure, guessing that there had to be at least fifty stories inside. Glancing at her watch, Buffy couldn't suppress the goofy smile that spread across her lips. Kicking the side of her suitcase so it would roll properly, she grabbed the handle and pulled it towards the revolving door. 

"Welcome to college," she muttered under her breath, crossing the sidewalk. Pushing the tarnished gold bar of the door with one hand, she struggled to keep her suitcase upright. Three-quarters of the way around the small circle, Buffy stepped out of the revolving door, shifting her backpack higher on her shoulder. 

Pulling off her sunglasses, she slid them into the bag before taking a hesitant step into the foyer. She'd imagined her dorm to be small, intimate and homey. Instead the entranceway to her building looked like a sterile hotel lobby. Several elevators took up a wall to her left and to her right were four closed doors, partially hidden by a long concierge desk. 

In the center of the entranceway, several folding picnic tables were set up next to an enormous wooden sign that read "Welcome Back". To the right of the tables was a narrow hallway, which Buffy assumed was home to more offices. 

Glancing at the pieces of paper taped in front of each student sitting behind the desk, Buffy stood behind an Asian girl, waiting for the R-Z line to begin moving. 

She looked around at the other people milling around the entranceway. Parents and their teenage children were moving back and forth between the elevator and the revolving door, carrying boxes, shopping bags and duffel bags in a never-ending stream. 

Within a few minutes, she was standing in front of a girl in a faded NYU sweatshirt whose nametag read Jasmine. "New student," she asked, taking one look at Buffy's wide eyes and smiling understandingly. 

Buffy nodded, "yeah. Buffy Summers." 

"Okay," the slender girl murmured, the hundreds of tiny braids in her hair moving back and forth as she flipped quickly through the enormous box of manila envelopes. 

"Here you go. There's your orientation schedule, student id card, mailbox key and address, freshman handbook, map of the city and class schedule." 

Buffy's green eyes widened as she took the heavy envelope. 

"Just initial this and here's your room key," Jasmine continued, sliding a smaller envelope across the table towards Buffy. 

"Thanks," Buffy said, taking a step away from the table. She stopped, "does it matter which elevator I take," she asked, not wanting to get lost in her own building. 

Thankfully her question didn't seem too uncommon because Jasmine didn't even bat an eye. "The two on the left stop at the high end of the hall, middle one stops in the middle and the two on the right stop at the low end." 

Before Buffy could ask which one she should take, Jasmine pointed to the far right elevator. "Take that one up to the seventh floor, make a right then a left. Your room'll be right there." 

Buffy nodded, smiling gratefully as she moved out of line. Two steps away from the table she realized that she has no idea where to pick up her moving boxes. Instead of carrying everything on the plane with her, Buffy had filled enormous moving boxes and shipped them to the City. At the time it had sounded like a wonderful idea except now she had no idea where to find the boxes. 

Tears welled up in her eyes and Buffy bit her lip savagely. "Shit," she whispered under her breath, turning around to see Jasmine already talking to another student. All of the other students behind the picnic table were handing out packets and making notes on their clipboards, trying to work through the never-ending line of people. 

Buffy ducked her head down, tucking long pieces of blonde hair behind her ears as she turned in the direction of the elevators. Maybe once she found her room and came back down to the lobby, the lines would be shorter. Before she could take more then two steps, Buffy collided into someone. 

Wincing, she squeezed her eyes shut, counting to five before opening one eye. She looked up, surprised when she was eye-to-eye with an olive green shirt. Tipping her head upwards, she smiled sheepishly. 

"Sorry," she squeaked out. 

"That's alright." Thankfully the person she'd almost run over didn't seem to be as temperamental as everyone else Buffy had met so far. His sandy-colored hair fell across his forehead and Buffy thought that he looked more like a football linebacker then a college student. 

He smiled down at her, hazel eyes taking in every inch of her tiny frame, extending his hand. "I'm Riley." 

Buffy slid her hand into his, never breaking eye contact. "Buffy," she said softly, pulling her hand away before he thought she was a clingy lunatic. 

"You look a little lost," Riley said, tipping his head to the side. 

Buffy let out a harsh giggle, "that's putting it mildly." 

Her eyes widened and she looked up at Riley, wide flirty smile in place. "You might be able to help me though," she added, doing her best Scarlett O'Hara impression. Channeling her inner Southern Belle always worked on her mother, it was worth a shot with this guy. 

Riley's smile widened and he crossed his arms over his chest. "I'll try." 

"I mailed some boxes before I got here and was wondering where to pick them up." 

He nodded, "that I can answer. See this little hallway, it's the last door on the right. Just go in there and they'll give you all the stuff." 

Buffy smiled; never underestimate the power of feminine wiles. "Thanks," she said, moving past Riley, mumbling how it was nice to have met him. 

Instead of catching the hint, Riley started walking alongside Buffy. "Those boxes can get kinda heavy," he said, "if you want some help, I'd be happy to carry them for you." 

Buffy's smile went from flirty to strained in less than a second. She'd heard all about crazy ax-murderers who looked normal and then snapped once they got their victims alone. Her mother would have a fit if she found out that Buffy was enlisting help from people three minutes after they met. 

"I'm actually going up to my room now. Just wanted to know where to get the boxes," she said, trying her best to sound apologetic and not bitchy. 

Riley grinned understandingly, "no problem. Nice meeting you, by the way." 

"Likewise," Buffy said, wiggling her fingers as she walked towards the elevator bay. 

Once the elevator doors hissed shut, Buffy let out a relieved sigh and leaned against the mirrored wall. She pulled open the envelope with all her housing papers in it, looking inside the manila envelope with anything with her room number on it. The first paper she pulled out had a sticky note with Room 659 written in black marker. "Thank God," she muttered. 

As if on cue, the elevator dinged and the doors opened. Buffy stepped off the elevator, her room key and a pile of papers clutched in her left hand, dragging her suitcase with the other. "659, right then a left" she muttered under her breath, wondering if she would ever learn where anything was. 

So far New York City was a confusing mess of streets that all looked alike, filled with people who knew exactly where they were going, with no time for lost college students. Her dorm didn't seem any better, every hallway looked exactly the same. 

"655. 657. Here we, 659." 

Sliding her key into the lock, Buffy turned it to the left, the heavy door sliding open. She stepped cautiously into the apartment, not sure what to expect. The only thing she could imagine were pictures she'd seen on the virtual tour of campus. 

She stepped onto the gray carpet, her sandals sitting on top of the unyielding material. A bounding bass greeted her ears and Buffy winced. Apparently one of her roommates was already there. She dropped her suitcase on the floor and slid the straps of her backpack over her arms. 

Taking a deep breath, she locked the door behind her, trying to absorb every detail of the apartment. Buffy crossed her arms over her chest, trying to steady the unrelenting butterflies fluttering about in her stomach. At first glance the apartment was exactly like the pictures she'd looked at on the Internet. 

A ratty sofa and armchair was directly in front of her, in an unofficial sort of living room. Between the two pieces of furniture was a chipped coffee table that sloped to the left a bit. A bookshelf and TV cabinet sat on the opposite wall; instead of being covered with knickknacks and videos, both were empty shelves of plywood painted with cheap wood veneer. If all her roommates were already moved into the apartment, they hadn't made any effort to put their stuff around the common area. 

The kitchen area was on her left, a small bit of tiled floor with pathetically small counters, a refrigerator, stove, microwave and sink all jammed together. A metal table with four chairs sat in the center of the tiles; Buffy supposed that it was meant to be the kitchen table but it looked like something better suited for a patio. 

She walked further into the apartment, turning around the sharp corner that separated the bedrooms from the rest of the space. There was a door on her left and two on her right, with an open door to the bathroom at the end of the tiny hallway. One of these must be the double, she thought, remembering that there was a double and two singles in every unit in this particular building. 

Pausing outside the door on her right, Buffy knocked tentatively, feeling the door thump in time with the music. If the head banging, electric guitar squealing, screeching singer with a drum solo music was any indication of her future roommates, she was screwed. 

"It's open," a loud voice with a rough accent called. The music dropped down to a less-then earsplitting volume as Buffy stepped into the room, a plastic smile already on her face. 

A curvy brunette was standing on one of the twin beds, trying to hang a long poster on the wall. She turned to face Buffy, her brown eyes rimmed with black liner, dark red lips parting in an equally fake smile. 

Leaping off the bed, she wiped her hand on the back of her black tank top. "I'm Faith," she said, extending her hand towards Buffy. 

Buffy smiled and introduced herself. 

Faith chuckled, cracking her gum like a waitress in a roadside diner. "Got it. Two down, one to go. 'Cause, you know that there're only three of us, right?" 

When Buffy continued to stare at her blankly, Faith snorted. "Some chick bailed. At least that's why the guy down at check-in central said." 

Shaking her head, Buffy tried to keep track of the whirlwind conversation; the combination of Faith's thick accent and the pounding music was making it difficult to think. 

"Sit down," Faith prompted, jutting her chin in the direction of the other bed, the one that wasn't buried beneath piles of stuff. Turning down the volume on the CD player, she flopped onto the bed, oblivious to the mess of clothes spread all over. 

Her legs dangled over the sides of the bed as she sat, sprawled across the tiny mattress, her eyes fixed on her new roommate. Buffy sat down gingerly, crossing her ankles together, folding her hands tightly in her lap. She felt like a prisoner awaiting sentencing, in that stage of awkwardness that no witty conversation starter could really break. 

It's going to be a long semester, Buffy thought, staring at a spot on the wall somewhere above Faith's head. 

* * *

  
Continue 

* * *

  
Home 


	2. Living Conditions

The two girls stared at each other for a long minute until Buffy broke the silence.

"So where're you from," she asked, leaning back on the mattress as she swung her legs under her body.

"Little shithole town south of Boston," Faith replied. "You?"

"Sunnydale, California."

"Pretty far away ain't it?" Faith raised her left eyebrow; no way was this girl going to last more then a week in the City.

Buffy shrugged, "I guess."

Turning her attention away from Faith's intense stare, Buffy looked around the room.

"So when did you get here," she asked.

"Yesterday morning," Faith said. "Didn't think my piece of junk Oldsmobile would make it this far."

Buffy raised her eyebrows in surprise, "no one took you?"

If she'd lived close enough, Joyce Summers would have been moving her daughter in herself. But since it would have been ridiculous to drive across the country, Joyce had reluctantly let Buffy come to the City by herself.

"Naw. Just me." To accentuate her point, Faith cracked her gum, waiting to see how Miss California Sunshine reacted to that.

Instead of leaning closer and prying for juicy gossip or delicious scandals, Buffy just nodded.

"Gotcha," she said with a slight nod of her head.

The room fell back into silence until Buffy looked over at Faith. "So the two singles are still open," she asked, desperate for something to talk about.

"Yup. I figured it be easier to just dump all my stuff in here rather then have everything all over the place. Guess you can pick your favorite room and then the other chick can just drop her crap in the other."

Buffy nodded. "So the fourth girl, she isn't coming?"

"Nope. Chickened out at the last minute. Can't say I blame her though, the City's gotta be rough for small towners."

Raising one perfect arched eyebrow, Buffy leaned forward. Her competitive drives snapped into gear at Faith's overly casual tone. She'd just had the longest day of her life and was in no mood to deal with someone who thought they knew everything about her after five minutes.

"Small towners," she repeated, her voice thick with sarcasm.

Faith nodded, her brown eyes staring intently at Buffy, wondering what kind of backbone the walking talking Barbie across from her actually had.

"Like me?"

The brunette smirked, "if the shoe fits."

Buffy's cheeks flushed and as much as the calming voice of her mother was telling her to relax and let it go, the emotionally wrung out part of her that had hassled airport security and obnoxious people all day took over.

"Let me tell you something, Faith, I have no intention of packing up and going home. You might be street-smart but I've been dreaming of being here for as long as I can remember."

Buffy paused for effect, lifting her chin with her best uber-bitch scowl. "Don't try to intimidate me, because it isn't going to work. You wanna see bitchy, I wrote the book."

After a long moment of silence, Faith burst out laughing. She slapped her denim-covered thighs in amusement.

Buffy's forehead wrinkled in confusion and she tipped her head to the side. Faith either had really thick skin or was just plain crazy, she thought apprehensively.

Wiping tears from her eyes, Faith swung her legs off the bed and onto the floor. She sauntered across the room and flopped down across from Buffy, crossing her legs under her body on the lumpy mattress.

"B, I think we're going to get along fine."

Buffy's eyes widened as her new roommate continued. "Didn't know what to expect with you looking like something out of a J. Crew catalog. Thought you had to be mental, walking around like that. Just had to find out."

Slowly a smile crept across Buffy's lips; Faith was nothing like the people she'd known in high school but as a roommate she didn't seem that bad.

Three hours later Buffy pushed the half-open box across her floor, grimacing as the contents spilled onto the floor. "Dammit to hell," she swore, stepping over the pile of books with glossy covers with titles like London, Venice and Paris.

After retrieving her boxes from the mailroom downstairs, she'd starting unpacking and already a small pile of empty boxes was sitting in the hallway. Hopping around the pile of novels resting against the crumpled plastic bag that had held her comforter, Buffy maneuvered her way over towards her desk.

Her laptop was still closed since she hadn't found the cables to connect everything together. All the books she'd brought from home had been stacked on her desk, until they decided to take a swan dive onto the floor, leaving her photography books in a heap.

Currently the three enormous duffel bags with the contents of her closets inside were wedged underneath her bed, right beside the box of shower supplies and a messy pile of shoes.

"You alright, B," Faith asked, leaning against the doorframe, an amused half-smile on her face.

Startled, Buffy yelped and spun around to face her roommate, in the process jarring the box with her sheets inside. The canary yellow sheets fell to the floor, followed by a battered stuffed pig.

"Dammit," Buffy mumbled, pushing her hair out of her face.

She smiled in Faith's direction, giggling self-conciously. "Been better," she admitted.

"Want a hand," the brunette asked, stepping into the room.

"Are you done already," Buffy asked in disbelief.

"Hell no, just got tired of looking all my stuff."

Buffy pointed at the heap of books at her roommate's feet, "if you really want to be helpful, those need to go somewhere other then the floor."

"Up here okay," Faith asked, gesturing to a shelf opposite the bed.

"Sure."

Faith knelt down and picked up a few of the texts. She picked up one book after another, flipping over any that had an interesting title.

"You read all these," she asked in disbelief.

"Yeah," Buffy said as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Why?"

Faith shrugged, "Dunno, thought people got books when they came to college. Didn't know anyone actually brought their own."

Blushing fiery red, Buffy focused on unpacking the box with her shampoo and other toiletries. So much for a good first impression, she thought ruefully.

Instead of looking at her like she was bonafide dork, Faith continued to stack the books. "It's cool," she said simply, annoyed at herself for sounding so dense.

After putting the books in three short piles, Faith plopped down on Buffy's bed. "So let me guess, English major," she asked teasingly.

Buffy shook her head, "journalism. Photojournalism actually."

"Explains the forty pounds of books," Faith responded.

The two girls giggled in unison and Buffy ducked her head in mock shame.

"I'm a self-proclaimed dork," she sighed, which only caused Faith to laugh even louder.

"Don't worry about it hun," the brunette said, lacing her fingers behind her head. "I'm not into writing. Music's more my thing."

"That's neat," Buffy said, genuinely interested. Her forehead wrinkled when instead of finding her picture frames, she encountered video tapes. "Pass me that box," she requested, smiling gratefully when Faith pushed the dented cardboard box across the carpet.

"So you're a music major," she asked after several moments of silence and Faith shook her head.

"Theater," she corrected, "can't play an instrument to save my life."

"Very cool," Buffy said, a triumphant smile on her face, the missing cables clutched in her hand.

Before she could do a victory dance, a hesitant voice broke the stillness of the apartment.

"Hello? Is anyone here?"

"Yeah," Buffy and Faith called in unison.

Dropping the cables onto her desk, Buffy followed Faith out of the room, ready to greet their new suitemate.

When they walked into the living room, a slender brunette with thin glasses was dragging two heavy boxes across the carpeted floor. Before any of the girls could introduce themselves, the new girl turned back towards the doorway.

"There's plenty of room for the rest of them Charles," she called.

Stepping around the pile of boxes and bags that had magically appeared on the floor, she pushed her glasses higher up on her nose.

"Hi," she squeaked out with a little wave. "I'm Fred."

Buffy smiled back, "I'm Buffy."

"Faith," the New Englander said with another pop of her gum.

The three girls stared at each other for a moment before Buffy broke the silence. "Do you need a hand with all that stuff?"

Fred shook her head, "that's okay." Both Buffy and Faith looked at her in disbelief and Fred giggled. She gestured behind her to the tall man who was currently trying to catch his breath by leaning against the small dolly filled with cardboard boxes.

"This is my boyfriend, Charles."

"The resident pack mule," he corrected, "but everyone calls me Gunn."

Faith chuckled, openly gawking at him. He was easily the most handsome man she'd seen since driving into the city. Gunn was tall with deep brown eyes, high cheekbones and skin that reminded her of coffee.

Licking her lips, Faith took a step closer to the door.

Gunn let out a loud groan as he bent down to pick up one of the boxes that had been dropped in favor of introductions. "Only twenty more trips to go," he grumbled, his voice filled with laughter.

Walking down the hall, he grunted as the rectangular box caught on the edge of the dividing wall between the living room and the hallway.

"Fred, I swear you packed boulders in here," he complained. She just giggled in response.

"Oh stop complaining," she teased him, sounding nothing like the shy girl who'd practically whispered her name to Buffy and Faith. "You packed more then me."

Turning back towards her suitemates, Fred pulled on one of her long brown pigtails.

"Where should I put my stuff," she asked, before her boyfriend got too far down the tiny hallway.

"Second door on the right," Faith replied without taking her eyes off Gunn's ass.

Buffy smacked her lightly on the arm and Faith turned back towards the conversation. Fred was mumbling something about a few more trips as she picked up another one of the boxes.

Shrugging her shoulders, Buffy picked up two of the shopping bags in one hand and grabbed the long mirror in the other. Anything was better then unpacking all of her stuff. Complaining about annoyingly helpful people, Faith snatched more bags and followed the small line of people down to Fred's room.


	3. Just One of Those Days

"Buffy?"

The art lab proctor, Sandra, smiled apologetically, "studio hours are over," she said, glancing down at her watch.

Looking up from the proofs spread across the table in front of her, Buffy stared blankly at the heavyset redhead. She looked back down at the black and white pictures and sighed heavily – three hours in the photo lab and she still didn't have a picture that was useable.

Sliding the glossy sheets into her notebook, Buffy gathered the rest of her materials together and dumped them unceremoniously into her bag. She smiled at Sandra who was patiently waiting by the door, several large textbooks cradled on her hip.

"Sorry about that," she apologized and Sandra shook her head.

"No big," she replied, shutting off the lights with her free hand. Buffy held the door open for her and Sandra shifted her books as she reached in her pocket for the keys.

"Anything specific giving you trouble," Sandra asked, cracking her gum to punctuate the question.

Shaking her head, Buffy slid her arms through the shoulders of her backpack and buttoned her denim jacket. "None of the roll came out the way I wanted," she explained, "half the pictures are completely useless and the rest are just okay."

Sandra nodded, turning the key and waiting for the telltale click of the lock.

"That's rough," she sympathized, "I'll be in my office tomorrow afternoon if you need any help."

"Thanks," Buffy said, smiling gratefully, "see you later."

She turned down the long hallway that led out of the building, waving to Sandra who was walking up the staircase to her small closet of an office.

The art building made Buffy feel uneasy when she left in the late afternoons – especially on cloudy days, when long shadows filled the narrow hallways and the darkened windows reflected the light from inside. She pushed open the heavy main door with a sigh – it was only Wednesday but she was ready for the week to be over.

Looking up at the dreary sky, she quickened her pace. Maybe she'd avoid the rain on her way home.

As she crossed the street, a large raindrop fell onto her cheek – so much for that theory. Buffy swung her backpack around to the front of her body and reached inside, searching for her umbrella.

"Shit," she swore under her breath, sidestepping a doublewide stroller. The rain was falling steadily as she made her way downtown, the large drops soaking through her denim jacket and matting her blonde hair to her scalp.

Buffy stood on the corner of the street and waited for the light to change. She shivered under the relentless downpour, her eyes burning with hot tears. Wiping her eyes carelessly with the back of her hand, Buffy crossed the street, weaving in and out of the heavy foot traffic.

It was a little after five but the sidewalks were already filled with people fleeing their cubicles and office buildings. She hurried past a man holding his New York Times above his head as a pseudo-umbrella, and ducked under the flowered umbrella of a woman in stilettos.

"Only a few more blocks," Buffy murmured under her breath. Even as she walked through the streets she found herself looking for a familiar face in the crowds of people – except no one looked familiar and everyone had the same look of detachment. They all had places to go and more important things to do, which explained why no one gave a crying college student a second glance on such a miserable day.

Buffy folded her arms across her chest, shivering against the wind and the rain that continued its relentless assault as she made her trek back to her apartment.

At least the torrential downpour was soaking her jacket, which still had a coffee stain from that morning. She'd been hurrying down the steps of her apartment building when her arm caught the edge of a man's briefcase, sending her travel cup of coffee flying all over her. And since she was already running late, Buffy had no choice but to go to her American literature survey class with a stained shirt and a half-empty mug of coffee.

Ten minutes later she stood shivering in the lobby of her building, waiting for the elevator to arrive. Water dripped down her forehead in long rivulets and Buffy felt like she'd just stepped out of the shower. After what seemed like an eternity the metal doors slid open and Buffy stumbled inside.

She pressed her floor and waited for the elevator to make its ascent. Buffy couldn't remember the last time she'd been so exhausted.

The doors hissed open again and she walked onto the carpeted floor, her wet socks making a terrible squishing noise every time she moved. Ever single muscle in her body was screaming with fatigue and it took tremendous effort to drag her aching feet down the hall towards her apartment door. She was tired and cold – the only thing she wanted was a hot shower and dry clothes.

Buffy leaned heavily against the doorframe, fumbling in her pocket for her key ring.

Her red hands were trembling when she pulled the key ring out, squinting at the deadbolt, trying to get the key inside. It took three tries before the door finally gave way, and Buffy practically fell into her apartment.

"I'm home," Buffy murmured to herself, pulling her keys out of the apartment door with a heavy sigh.

Slamming the door shut behind her, she clicked the deadbolt out of habit before sliding down to the floor.

Her head fell back against the door, her green eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. She shivered, her keys falling from her hands, as the tears she'd been holding back all afternoon slipped like liquid fire from her eyes.

She wiped her eyes and was slowly getting up when she heard someone come into the living room. Without even looking over at which one of her roommates it was - even though Fred was probably with Gunn like she always was - Buffy took off her coat and tossed it in the direction of the sofa.

"Long day," an unfamiliar male voice asked and she shrieked, turning around to see who was talking to her.

The dark-haired stranger yelped with surprise, taking a step back and practically tripping over the footstool. Buffy stared at him, looking at his long legs, bare chest and plaid boxer shorts quickly, before turning her blushing face towards his.

"Who are you," she snapped, looking at the half-naked strange guy standing in her living room in a combination of shock and horror. He took a step towards Buffy, holding out his hand.

"Xander Harris," he supplied with a goofy grin, oblivious to his state of undress. "You must be Buffy."

"Huh," she asked, her mouth wide open in astonishment. "Do I know you?"

Xander shook his head sheepishly, "I'm a friend of Faith's."

"Friend is such a simple word, isn't it Xander," Faith purred from the doorway. A sheet was wrapped loosely around her body and Buffy looked from one brunette to another, trying not to stare.

She felt like she was trapped inside a porn video.

Buffy sighed heavily, wiping at her red eyes with the back of her hand. "Look it was nice to meet you, but I'm just going to go ... to my room."

Without looking back at the pair in the living room, Buffy practically fled down the hall. She pushed open her bedroom and stumbled inside, kicking the door shut as she flung herself onto her bed.

Her wet clothes stuck to her body but Buffy was too upset to care. She kicked off her shoes and curled into a ball against her pillow as she reached onto her bedside table for her cordless phone.

Dialing a familiar number, she looked over at her alarm clock. It was a little after three in New York, so her mom should be getting ready to go to lunch back in California.

The phone rang four times then five. Buffy stared blankly at the ceiling, where was her mom? Mothers were always supposed to be around whenever their daughters had terrible days, no matter what coast the two were on.

After seven rings the answering machine picked up. "Thank you for calling the Main Street Gallery. Our hours are Monday through Thursday, 9 am until 3 pm. If you'd like to place an order, please press 1. If you're calling in reference to picking up an order, please press 2. Otherwise please leave a message after the beep."

Buffy hung up the phone with a harsh sigh, only to punch in her mom's cell phone number a second later. Even though her mom hardly ever turned on the phone, it was worth a try.

Two rings later the call went straight into voicemail. Instead of leaving a message, Buffy hung up for the second time and tried her home number. Four rings later the answering machine picked up and the mechanical voice asked her to leave a message after the beep.

"Dammit," Buffy swore, hot tears spilling down her face. Throwing the phone onto her comforter Buffy ground her head into the pillow, growling in frustration.

She turned onto her side, curling her body into a tight ball as hot tears spilled down her cheeks. I want to go home, she thought miserably, wishing that she were anywhere other than the City.

In the hallway outside her door she could hear Faith's muffled voice and Buffy wondered what her roommate was doing. Now that she was safely on the other side of the apartment with a closed door between her and Faith's half-naked guy of the moment, Buffy could laugh about the situation. Xander was probably just as embarrassed as she was – although he could be one of those strange exhibitionist types who enjoyed walking around and shocking the hell out of everyone.

It was impossible to tell; in the three short weeks since the semester had started, Faith had brought an array of guys back to the apartment. Some looked like displaced hippies while others could have passed for members of an underground grunge band.

Buffy couldn't remember seeing the same guy twice but that was Faith's business, not hers. She did everything possible to avoid infringing on her suitemate's string of guys, not because of the awkwardness factor but because there were so many unspoken boundaries that existed between the two.

Her third suitemate, Fred, was hardly ever in the apartment since her boyfriend had his own place a few blocks away – one that didn't come complete with roommates and terribly ugly furniture. Fred seemed nice enough but Buffy hardly got a chance to talk to her because the petite brunette was either on her way out the door or coming back from a long day with a pile of books in her arms.

Shivering again, Buffy sat up slowly and began to peel off her wet clothes. She tossed her jacket onto the floor, followed by her burgundy t-shirt, until there was a nice pile of dripping cloth on the carpet. Padding over to her closet, Buffy pulled her fluffy bathrobe out and slipped her arms through the white sleeves.

She slid on her shower sandals and opened her bedroom door, peering down the hall to make sure she didn't see any more half-naked people running around. As she ducked back inside the room to retrieve her shower caddy, she heard high-pitched squeals coming from the bathroom – squeals that were quickly followed by masculine grunts.

Buffy's cheeks turned bright red and she hastily retreated back inside her room. Locking the door behind her, she rested her forehead against the painted wood. "Today's not my day," she complained, tears slipping down her cheeks and off the end of her nose.

Her stomach growled, reminding Buffy that she hadn't eaten since lunch – if a vanilla smoothie and half a hot pretzel counted as a meal. Pinching the bridge of her nose between her index fingers, Buffy turned away from the door. She walked over to her bed and picked up her cordless phone again, dialing her home number again.

The phone rang three times but on the fourth ring, a breathless voice answered. "Hello," Joyce Summers exclaimed, leaning against the center island in her kitchen as the backdoor clicked closed behind her.

At the sound of her mom's voice, Buffy burst into tears again. She sniffled loudly, "hi," she whimpered.

On the West Coast, Joyce's face wrinkled in concern. "Buffy? Is that you baby?"

"Uh-huh."

"What's wrong," Joyce asked, her concerned 'mom' voice making Buffy feel marginally better.

"Everything," Buffy murmured, "I hate school."

"Oh Buffy," her mother exclaimed. To say that Joyce had been worried about her only child living so far away was an understatement – she'd been petrified at the idea and still hadn't completely warmed to it.

Oblivious to her mom's concerns, Buffy continued to rant about her day. "My literature professor is the most arrogant jerk on the face of the planet. He assigns us all these obscure works and then got all pissed off today because no one had any insights into them. Like how the hell are we supposed to be insightful when we can't pronounce the fucking author's name?"

"Language," Joyce chided automatically and Buffy exhaled loudly.

"Mom," she whined, drawing out the name in a voice that made Joyce wince.

"Buffy," Joyce mimicked and in spite of her bad mood, Buffy had to roll her eyes at her mom's corniness.

"You're a dork," she teased her mom, sniffling loudly into the phone.

"Mmm. So you were saying with that terrible language," Joyce prompted.

"Oh," Buffy exhaled a sigh, "so the professor gets all pissy and he says that because none of us contributed to the discussion that we have to write a ten page paper on how the play affected us. Which is such a waste of time."

"And here I thought that I was sending you to school so you could do crazy things like write papers," Joyce teased.

"You're not helping," Buffy snapped, but in spite of her horrible day she couldn't keep the smile off her face. She stared across the room at her faded poster of Monet's Waterlilies, her arms crossed defiantly across her chest.

"Mm-hmm." In her sun-drenched kitchen Joyce massaged the back of her neck with one hand, staring out the window at her overgrown vegetable garden.

"So how was your day," Buffy asked, tired of her ranting for the moment.

"Alright," Joyce said, her attention turning from the garden to her only child. "Oh did I tell you that Rupert's working for me on the weekends?"

"Really," Buffy exclaimed in surprise. "I thought you were going to get someone from the high school to do it."

"I was," Joyce admitted. She paused for a moment and chuckled quietly to herself. "I did in a way," she murmured under her breath.

Buffy giggled, twirling a piece of her wet hair around her index finger. "Yeah, because Giles is that cool," she teased her mother.

On the other end of the phone Joyce let out an un-ladylike snort.

"Be nice," she half-heartedly admonished, and Buffy giggled louder in response.

"So how are things with you two," Buffy asked, unable to resist teasing Joyce some more.

"Things," Joyce repeated, acting like she had no idea what Buffy was talking about. "There's no thing."

"Uh-huh. You and Giles all alone in the gallery for long hours – with all those dark corners to hide – and there's nothing?"

"Buffy!"

Joyce pretended to be horrified by the idea but the laughter in her voice gave her away. Even though she'd known Rupert for years – he'd lived across the street from her and Buffy since they moved to Sunnydale – there was still an occasional moment when she wondered about being more than friends. But those moments were few and far between – she wouldn't risk losing his friendship and depriving Buffy of her father-figure.

"How's your photography class going," she asked, abruptly changing the subject.

Buffy groaned. "Terrible," she admitted, catching her lower lip between her teeth.

"Really," Joyce asked, genuinely surprised. Her daughter had always loved taking pictures – Buffy's favorite toy when she was younger had been Joyce's old Nikon – a clunky piece of dented plastic and scratched metal.

"It's just weird," Buffy said, "I mean the professor's nice and all, but the pictures don't look right."

"You're trying to hard," Joyce supplied and her daughter exhaled loudly.

"Thanks Mom," she said, a sarcastic edge to her voice.

Joyce shook her head, her permed curls falling across her shoulders. "Welcome," she chirped, her voice irritatingly perky.

Growling into the receiver, Buffy flopped onto her stomach, her face pressed into her pillow. Her mom was such a pain sometimes

"So how're your roommates," Joyce asked, stepping over the long phone cord and leaning into the refrigerator. The glass shelves were practically empty and she moved aside the half-empty carton of pork lo-mein to see if there was any lettuce left for a salad.

"They're alright," Buffy said, punctuating her explanation with an embarrassed giggle. She knew her mom wouldn't appreciate hearing about her encounter with Faith's 'friend' in the living room – something that was starting to seem more amusing than awkward. So instead of talking about Xander and her roommate, Buffy told her mom about how she'd redecorated her room and the awesome purse she found in a boutique on her way back from calculus.

Ten minutes later Buffy hung up the phone and flipped onto her back with a grunt. Her hair was still a stringy mess and when she wiped her eyes her fingers came away coated with brown mascara. Sliding off the side of her bed, she stared at herself in the mirror hung on the back of her door.

"I look like a drowned rat," she proclaimed dejectedly, re-tying the sash of her bathroom. She opened her door and peered cautiously out into the hallway. The only sound that greeted her was the pounding bass of Faith's music coming from the room across the hall.

Buffy breathed a sigh of relief and picked up her shower caddy from the floor. She padded down to the bathroom, checking the small room carefully before walking inside. Nothing looked out of place and for once Faith had been considerate and left the window open.

She closed the window quickly, shutting out the cold fall breeze. Turning the knobs on the shower all the way to the left, she waited for the warm steam to fill the bathroom.

Maybe tomorrow won't be as bad, she thought, staring blankly at the girl reflected in the mirror. Outside a clap of thunder sounded and the lights in the bathroom flickered in response.

Buffy sighed heavily – no way tomorrow could be worse than this, she thought.


End file.
